


You Never Even Called Me By My Name

by Duck_Life



Category: X-Force (Comics)
Genre: Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Les Misérables References, M/M, Names, Past Abuse, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 13:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Shatterstar used to be called Gaveedra-7. He isn't called that anymore.





	You Never Even Called Me By My Name

Domino digs out some old linens lying around in the abandoned Murderworld facility and gives them to Shatterstar so he can make up a decent bed in his quarters. “Thank you, Beatrice,” he says.

She snorts, brushing black hair out of her face. “Beatrice?”

“Is that not your name?” he asks, confused. “Prosh referred to you as—”

“Right, right, yeah,” she sighs. “Beatrice is my birthmother’s name. I used to go by it, but, ah, hearing it these days just brings back some… unpleasant memories.” 

“I apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, handing him the fitted sheet, top sheet and pillow cases. “Sleep tight, okay, kid? You know Cable’s gonna wanna run drills first thing in the morning.”

“Of course,” he says. “Thank you, Domino.” 

He gets about halfway down the corridor before she calls out, “Neena.”

“What?”

“You can call me Neena if you want,” she elaborates. “That… that’s the name I chose.” Shatterstar’s face smooths over as he processes the new information, and then he nods. 

“Then… thank you, Neena.”

* * *

  
Shatterstar and Rictor get back to Murderworld around two in the morning, with Shatterstar still nibbling on his empanada. They stopped at a food truck on the walk home— Rictor’s idea— and while his companion finished his food in a couple quick bites, Shatterstar is still working on his. It tastes excellent, not too spicy for him, and he likes the pork. “Hey man, thanks for coming out with me tonight,” Rictor says, flipping on lights as he wanders through their new base toward his bedroom. “I know those clubs aren’t really your scene.”

“Yes, I usually don’t enjoy them,” Shatterstar agrees, looking down at his empanada. “I have found, though, that anytime I am in your presence is a good time, regardless of my surroundings.”

Rictor turns and looks at him, and his face is… complicated. It has become easier for Shatterstar to recognize emotions just be looking at expressions— he can tell when Jimmy is pleased or upset, can tell when Sam feels stressed out or when Domino is angry. He cannot tell, right now, what Rictor’s expression means. 

“Well, anyway,” he says, as they reach Shatterstar’s quarters. “I had fun. I, uh, like hanging out with you, Shatty.”

Shatterstar looks at him. “I also enjoy ‘hanging out’ with you, Rictor.”

There’s the look again on Rictor’s face. He must realize it’s there, because he looks down, hides the expression. “You can call me Julio, you know,” he says, still looking at the floor. “That’s my real name.”

Confusing. Shatterstar finishes his empanada, wipes his mouth, crumples the tinfoil in his left hand. “You said that only your mother could call you that.”

Rictor sort of laughs, sort of looks up, sort of smiles. “Aw, that’s just what I told Cable ’cause, uh, I  _ really _ don’t want Cable callin’ me that. You can though,” he says, and the words are… heavy. Shatterstar has learned that words can be light and words can be heavy, and Rictor’s words weigh in the air like steel, or like silver. “You can call me by my real name, if you want.”

“Julio,” Shatterstar tries, listening to how the name sounds in his voice. Rictor’s— Julio’s— face reddens. “Julio,” Shatterstar says again, more sure this time, realizing he likes it. Realizing that his friend has given him a gift, a sign of trust and kinship. Wishes he could give something back, something to show Julio how much this means. “You… may call me by my real name as well,” Shatterstar says. “My real name is Gaveedra-7.” But the designation sits on his tongue like bile. 

“Gaveedra,” Julio repeats. “Professor— I mean, Prosh— called you that,” he says, remembering. 

“It is my name,” Shatterstar says, feeling something twist in his chest. Another emotion he has no name for, something ugly and sad and alarming. He doesn’t want Julio to see it, doesn’t want Julio to see the ugly-sad emotion and mistake it for a lack of gratitude, doesn’t want Julio to think that he rejects the gift he has been given. “Goodnight, Julio.” He will go to sleep, and he will wake up tomorrow and he will be fine.

“Goodnight, Gaveedra,” Julio says.

* * *

  
_ The Spineless One forces him to the ground, causing him to drop his rations. They spill and scatter across the concrete. “Do not get smart with me, slave,” the Spineless One snarls, his spider’s legs clicking and tapping. “You may be Shatterstar to the crowd out there, but when the cameras are off you are nothing. You are only Gaveedra-7 back here, you understand?” _

_ Shatterstar looks down at the miserable remains of his daily rations. Hungry tonight, will be hungry tomorrow.  _

_ The Spineless One’s metallic pincer clamps down on his leg, and he grunts in surprise— and pain. “I said: do you understand me, Gaveedra-7?” _

_ “Yes,” he says brusquely, not looking at the Spineless One’s eyes. Slaves were not to make eye contact, lest they delude themselves into thinking they were at level with the ruling class. “I understand.” _

* * *

  
Shatterstar’s arm comes out and whacks Julio in the chest. Julio startles awake. “Wha…? What is it? What’s wrong?” he says blearily, rolling on his side to look at 'Star. “You have another bad dream?”

“I was not sleeping,” Shatterstar says. He’s lying on top of the dirty motel coverlet, stick-straight, staring up at the ceiling. “I have been consumed with thought tonight.”

“Oh,” Rictor sighs, rolling back and letting his head thump onto the pillow. “Great.” They’re supposed to be taking down another Richter family outpost tomorrow, and they could both really use the rest, but it’s clear that Shatterstar is serious about whatever this is. Rictor rubs his eyes, tries to make himself useful. 

Shatterstar hums, crosses his arms. The air conditioner window unit blares on, a sort-of comforting background in the dark room. In some motels, the AC sounds too much like the roar of the audience in the arena, and he wakes from terrible nightmares of blood and bright lights. This one is nice, though, identifiable and distinct by the way it whirrs to life at inopportune moments. 

“Benjamin Russell is not my name,” he says finally. “I use it so that I sound human, unassuming, but it is not my name.”

“I know that,” Julio says, his hand moving across the cover to hold Shatterstar’s. This has been happening more and more often. It started when the kissing started, the handholding. He likes it. He likes feeling tethered to Julio. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want. You can just say your name is ’Star, no one’s gonna bat an eye, I promise.”

“Benjamin Russell is not my name,” Shatterstar says. “Gaveedra… is, but… is wrong. Is wrong,” he says again, feeling that familiar choking-helpless-broken feeling rise in his chest and in his throat. 

“Jeez, you’re shakin’ more’n I do,” Julio remarks, rolling closer so he can wrap his arms around Shatterstar. “What’re you sayin’? You don’t like your name?”

“It is not my name,” Shatterstar says, but he feels like he’s lying. He feels like an ungrateful whelp, rejecting the name he has been given. He has been given so little in his life. How can he turn away what he has? “It is… it is…” He scrambles, tries to find an answer in the shows, movies and plays he has seen. “24601. Gaveedra-7 is like 24601.”

Julio blinks, pressing his face into Shatterstar’s shoulder. “You gotta give me more than that, buddy. What’s that from?”

“ _ Les Miserables _ .”

“Right,” Julio says. “Cosette, Castle in the Clouds. Okay. I kind of remember that one. Tab had that album.”

“24601 is Jean Valjean,” Shatterstar tries to explain. “But Jean Valjean is Jean Valjean. And I am Shatterstar. I am not 24601. I am not Gaveedra.”

“Oh,” Julio says. “So that name is… it's not really a name at all, huh? It's like a number, or a label.”

“Yes,” Shatterstar says.

“Okay,” Julio says, tucking his arms around Shatterstar’s waist. He gives him a moment to move away if he wants— he always does— before tightening his grip, and Shatterstar likes that, feels safe, feels cared for. “I won’t call you that anymore, then.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shatterstar says quickly, ashamed and selfish. Sharing the name Gaveedra-7 with Julio had been like a promise, and now he’s broken it. 

Julio kisses a line up his shoulder, pressing his lips to the patch of freckles Shatterstar has developed since they’ve been in Mexico. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “If it’s not your name, it’s not your name.”

“But I told you that you could—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Julio says. “You’re allowed to change your mind. There’s ever anything I do or say that hurts you, makes you uncomfortable… I  _ want _ you to tell me. Okay?” Shatterstar says nothing. “ _ Okay _ ?”

“Okay,” he says. “... Thank you, Julio.”

“S’nothin’.” Julio cranes his neck up so he can press a kiss to Shatterstar’s cheek. He never used to be okay with showing this kind of affection, back on X-Force, and the change here is the most welcome thing in the world. “ _ Shatterstar _ .” 

The way Julio says his name, like it’s an affirmation and a talisman and a reassurance, makes all the apprehension and anxiety constantly buzzing in Shatterstar’s brain get a little bit quieter. 


End file.
